


I Won't Say It

by Krystalicekitsu



Category: Supernaturalural
Genre: Blindness, Gen, Hurt Sam Winchester, Hurt/Comfort, Injury
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-11-11
Updated: 2010-11-11
Packaged: 2017-10-18 17:34:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 513
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/191452
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Krystalicekitsu/pseuds/Krystalicekitsu
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam scrambles for the gun, for the safe feeling of skin-warmed metal and wood quickly cooling in the pitch-black basement.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Won't Say It

**Author's Note:**

> for my [](http://hc-bingo.livejournal.com/profile)[**hc_bingo**](http://hc-bingo.livejournal.com/) [card](http://krystalicekitsu.livejournal.com/84630.html#cutid1) for the square ' _detached retina_ ' and my [](http://spn-30snapshots.livejournal.com/profile)[**spn_30snapshots**](http://spn-30snapshots.livejournal.com/) challenge [table](http://krystalicekitsu.livejournal.com/126604.html#cutid1) for ' _dark_ ' because they fit sooooo well together. Holy hell did I have to research for this. I think my eyes are swimming. O.o  And, NaNo? You can kiss my ass.

Sam scrambles for the gun, for the safe feeling of skin-warmed metal and wood quickly cooling in the pitch-black basement. He brushes against the soft rubber on the grip of his flashlight, _hears_ it rolling and crunching over rock. His eyes are aching and he doesn't open them, doesn't risk it- _more pain, the sick, sinking feeling_ \- just _scrambles_ , fingers scraping along jagged stones and raw pavement.

Scrambles and reaches and stretches because this can't be it, he can't die here he can't le-

 _There!_

And now he has no choice, has to open his eyes, has to aim, to see to fire and not hit his brother and not kill them both with the oil drums stacked in the corner and-

Nothing. Just the dark.

He blinks.

Dark.

" _Sam!_ "

There's the pop and snap of a flare, burning hiss of chemicals combusting, echoing off stone and wood and-

Dark.

"Dean?"

"Jesus fuck, Sam, I thought you were going to fucking let it gut you! Why didn't you shoot it? You had the shot. Or did you just want me to-," and now he can hear the crunch of gravel under approaching boots, barely there, Dean nearly as silent as Death on the hunt, "-save your ass, princess?"

"I…" Sam can feel the swallow get stuck on the swelling bubble of panic in his throat, because something was wrong, words seeping through his mind like low hanging fog. Words like _tractional retinal detachment_ and _pneumatic retinopexy_ and scarier words like _cryopexy_ and _laser photocoagulation_ and _bli-_

"Come on, Sam. Let's… Sam?" Dean's voice is closer, concerned, "What's wrong?"

"Dean-," he chokes out, tries to force out more but the panic is large and all consuming in his chest. He wants to reach out, to grab Dean's jacket, ground himself in the familiarity his older brother's touch and the comforting smells of gun oil, motor oil and leather musk, but he's afraid. He's afraid if he reaches out in the wrong direction Dean will know, will guess.

Will ask.

And then the words will make it real.

"Sammy? Sam?"

But Dean does it for him, wraps a hand carefully above Sam's elbow, tugs him gently, slightly forward. A touch that says ' _are you alright, let me see, I need to know you're ok._ ' Tries to bring him closer, and another hand is twisting in his shirt, and Sam can feel the anxiousness shivering through the fabric and down into his chest.

Sam goes. Goes, because it's _Dean_ and Dean is safe and Dean will get him through this and-

"Sam-," and there's despair in that voice for half a second before he feels the air in front of his face shifting and moving and-

"Dean, what're- Stop-"

"Sam," there's a pregnant pause, "Sam what… what can you see," voice flat, like he already knows the answer.

"I…," Sam wants to sob, the panic and fear and utter terror swamping him, making him feel three years old again and like Dean could fix the world if Sam wanted it.

"Dark," he sobs, "Just the dark."


End file.
